Love and Vegemite.

 This is a silly little story of a girlish fancy and the peculiarities of the brain (mine anyway). Many years ago, I had a bit of a ‘thing’ for a boy a little older than me. His name was Neil Webster (and probably still is). I thought he was very good-looking, with dark hair and I don’t quite remember what else. I don’t think I knew a single thing about him otherwise. He was a year ahead of me at school though not in the top stream, which obviously didn’t bother me then. I don’t think we ever really had a proper conversation. I’m sure we had absolutely nothing in common but I don’t know that I knew then that having something in common was sometimes a useful feature.

However (and I really don’t know how this came about — I wish I did), every time I open a new jar of Vegemite I remember his name. I’ve opened quite a few jars over the years as Vegemite is a household staple here. So, for some lunatic and obsessive reason way back when, I trained my brain to make that association. And I’ll swear that I’ve never missed remembering in over thirty years.

[I think the blonde girl (top right) in the photo married him. The dark haired one on the top left also rather fancied him. (She  had a relationship with MIke Gatting years later). I’m the one sitting demurely by the maths teacher. I’m pretty sure I was over Neil Webster by the time that was taken. (There could be another little story there.)]